Root of Happiness
by yankeebornandbred
Summary: After Karen's death, Bobby is suffering depression. Can an encounter with a small thief turn that around? AU. One shot.


The lines on Bobby's face deepened as he scowled at the bright store windows. They made him think of Christmas. Christmas shopping. Karen laughing and kissing his nose, making him grumble while secretly enjoying it. Karen tossing her soft hair back, her eyes shining at the perfect little snowflakes that gathered on her mittens. Karen unwrapping the red and gold wrapped gift he had bought for her, gasping in surprise and delight when she saw the amethyst necklace she had longed for for weeks. Karen, with tears in her eyes, telling him that the doctor had diagnosed her with cancer. Karen's beautiful hair lying in forgotten clumps about the house. Karen, even at the brink of death, managing to conjure a small smile and a whispered thank you for all the years they had spent together.

There was a soft tinkle as he pushed open the door of the food mart. It was mostly empty. The cashier – Dave, according to his name tag – looked up briefly when he entered and looked disappointed to see just an old, graying, bearded man in a hobo jacket.

Bobby sighed and mournfully took a box of cigarettes. Karen wouldn't have approved of him returning to his old habit... but she wasn't here now. His hand still faltered. He probably would have stood there for several minutes longer in mental debate, but his attention was caught by a movement at the other end of the aisle.

It was a boy. A thin boy with big eyes and a shock of dark hair peaking out from under the huge Led Zeppelin hoodie that engulfed his small frame. He glanced around anxiously, his eyes flicking over and dismissing Bobby. With one more nervous look, he reached out and grabbed one of the clean white boxes that perched on the shelf.

"Hey!" Bobby barked. He didn't bother to wonder why a small boy (around seven years old, by the looks of it) was reduced to stealing drugs in the wee hours. "What are you doing, kid?"

The boy snatched his hand back, his face blanching.

"N... nothing," he stammered. "I... I'm just... I..." he licked his cracked lips nervously. "Nothing."

He backed away quickly, knocking over the crate of potato chips behind him.

"I... I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!" His voice wavered as he knelt and started to hurriedly gather the spilled merchandise.

Bobby rolled his eyes and squatted down to help. The kid's long bangs hid his eyes (Bobby had a feeling that was their intent), but his hands trembled a little. He kept glancing behind him as if he was searching for someone. Bobby wasn't mean-spirited, and the kid's crushed expression whenever he turned back tugged at his heart.

"Run along, kid," he said gruffly. "Just quit nabbing stuff."

The boy sniffed and rubbed his nose with the back of a dirty fist.

"Yessir," he whispered.

Bobby pretended not to see the wet streaks that were left on the gray hoodie when the kid dropped his arm and shuffled away, narrow shoulders shaking. Bobby stooped to pick up the box and frowned when he saw the label. He shook his head and replaced it.

There were several refrigerators in the back of the store. He listlessly grabbed a couple bottles of orange juice and headed to the cash register. To his astonishment, the boy was back, being roughed up by Dave. His arms were clasped protectively around his middle.

"Don't, please don't, I gotta have it! I need it, please! Just this once... I promise I'll work for it later! Anything, but I need it now!"

The desperation in the boy's voice was unnatural, as was his remarkable persistence. Bobby found himself marveling at the kid. Dave pushed him away and he tumbled to the ground with a cry of pain.

"I'll let you get away with it this time," the cashier said nastily. "Don't expect me to welcome your idiot face back in here again, though."

The boy picked himself up and fled without a word. Dave grunted and returned to his post, setting the box of Tylenol unconcernedly next to the cash register. Bobby placed the orange juice and cigarettes on the counter and waited as the cashier rung them up. For some reason, his eyes seemed glued to the little white box.

"That'll be $8.50, mister."

Bobby dug in his pocket for change. Giving in to his instincts with an internal groan, he gestured at the box.

"Hey, throw that in, will yah?"

The cashier looked at him doubtfully.

"You sure?"

"Damn right I'm sure," Bobby muttered. But he couldn't help but feel a twinge of misgiving as the extra dollars were added to his total.

"There you go. Have a nice night."

Bobby grunted noncommittally in response and stalked out through the glass door.

He winced when he heard the muffled but clearly heartbroken sobs. Poor kid. He was curled up in a little miserable ball in the dark alley that ran between the food mart and a closed clothing store. Bobby watched him carefully for several moments, a forlorn heap in the middle of the broken bottles and shreds of cardboard waste, and then approached him quietly.

The boy's head immediately snapped up and his eyes fell on Bobby. Scrambling to his feet, he started to back away, looking terrified.

"Don't! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... my big brother's sick and he's acting all weird. I don't know what to do... please, just leave me alone! I promise I won't take anything from your store, mister!"

His voice cracked on the last word and he dissolved into a torrent of tears.

Bobby quickly covered the last few yards that stood between them and grabbed the boy's arm when he tried to run away. He was careful to hold him gently, but the boy still fought, biting and kicking viciously in his desperation to escape.

"Whoa, there, kid," he grumbled. "It's not my store. Easy. Here, take it."

He shoved the box awkwardly into the kid's grimy hand and stepped back. The boy had stopped struggling and was staring disbelievingly at the medication.

"But... I..." he stammered.

Bobby shrugged.

"Take it. You're a good kid. Run along to your brother and try not to get caught again."

The boy swallowed several times, his eyes still wet with tears. Then Bobby was almost knocked over as the kid threw his scrawny arms around the older man's waist.

"Thank you..." His voice quivered. "Thank you so much."

"Now scram," Bobby told him. But he didn't sound quite as gruff as he had before, and a small smile was threatening to surface on his grizzled face.

The boy pulled away, his face contorting with suppressed emotion.

"Yessir… yessir. Thank you, sir."

As the boy darted away, Bobby couldn't help but feel lighter than he had for weeks. He took the pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and gazed at them for several moments in silence. Then he tossed them to the side to rest with the broken glass and trash, and walked away, whistling.

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 **I'd love some reviews, please! Even if it's just a one-shot!**


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